


Mother Henning

by NonbinaryNerdbot



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Actual fluff!!, Fluff, I can be taught!, It doesn't even get sad!!, Jon Has A Cane, Some one high five me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22004107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NonbinaryNerdbot/pseuds/NonbinaryNerdbot
Summary: A progression of Jon and Martin's relationship in the Archives. (Only goes to about mid-season 1, and virtually no spoilers for anything)A lil fluffy character study for my date mate who requested Soft Martin.... So like the opposite of what I normally write ^-^'
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65





	Mother Henning

Jonathan Sims was a lot of things. He was annoying, he was brash, he was cold, and he often overcompensated for what he felt were his failings by overstating himself. That is to say, he was an asshole. He was frequently rude to people he felt were wasting his time, and his ability to read something depended solely on whether or not he felt like he had read something similar before. He was incredibly particular about some things, and almost comically lackadaisical in others. Often times it seemed as though the man’s cares were based on a whim or a roll of the dice. Like whatever he decided to care about had been randomly selected, and he would have had the same level of passion and conviction no matter what the draw had been. 

The only person that seemed to get close to Jon once he had joined the Institute and become Head Archivist was Martin. For some reason, which Jon could never understand, Martin insisted on clinging to him, making him tea, asking about when he last slept or ate. At first it infuriated Jon to no end. He was an adult, damnit, he could take after himself. 

Now though? Well, he didn’t mind so much. The past few months had been stressful, but when Martin burst into the Archives, crying about worms and being trapped in his flat… Well Jonathan Sims was a lot of things, but he wasn’t about to let someone he knew suffer when he knew he could help in the situation. So he moved Martin to the Archives, where his mothering didn’t get any better, but it did seem to help Martin calm down, and Jon didn’t find himself minding as much. So if Jon crushed a few extra worms on his way into the Archives, and happened to bring along a bit too much of the pasta that he knew Martin loved, shoving it his way claiming to be full, then that was his business. It certainly didn’t matter that Jon made sure to tell Elias where he could shove it when he mentioned something about Martin living in the Archives, or that he made sure to bring down a few extra, more exotic teas when he went shopping so that Martin wouldn’t get bored. Or that he brought a couple thicker, freshly washed blankets in and left them on the small cot when Martin was busy, certainly not. What a ludicrous idea.   
And if Martin happened to notice that Jon’s cane tip was getting worn out and quietly asked Tim to pick one up on his way back the next day, replacing it on Jon’s next good day when he would occasionally leave it in his office to get his next task, well… Direct communication was never his strong suit. And if Jon wasn’t going to do anything more direct than look puzzled for a moment before looking up and nodding once at Martin, then he didn’t really see a need to make it more clear. 

The Archives may be separated from the rest of the Institute and have a reputation for being silent, foreboding, but for those who spend more than a day there, they would know there was very little amount of time that was truly silent in the Archives. Between Sasha’s music quietly echoing from her headphones, the sound turned up just a touch too high, Tim’s phone buzzing every couple of minutes accompanied by his quiet huffs of laughter or sighs of discontent, and Jon’s barely audible murmuring to himself over whatever statement or project he was currently working on, it was rare for the Archives to be truly silent. 

The most consistent of the low level noises however, was the small noises Martin made. Not the noises one might expect, given Martin’s appearance; standing at nearly 6’7” and 250 lbs, one might expect the noises coming from Martin Blackwood to be the steady footsteps of a heavyset man, perhaps alongside some mildly audible breathing. Instead, Martin’s footsteps made almost no noise as he seemed to float across the Archive’s floor - rather, the noises alerting one to his presence being the soft sounds of his humming, the tapping of his fingers on whatever surface he was closest to, and the bubbling of a kettle as he made another cup of tea. 

The noises at one point more than slightly irritated Jon, though by the time Martin started living in the Archives, the sounds had become such a routine part of the job that the month Martin wasn’t there was one of the most unsettling Jon had ever spent there. Sasha and Tim still made their presence known, but the soft, reassuring aura of Martin being missing made focusing… rather difficult for Jon for that month. 

Most of those who visited the Archives long enough to notice Martin’s noises, would have told you the tune he hummed was nonsense - something he was making up as he went. The Archival staff knew better. 

It hadn’t been too long after the group had interrogated a rather intoxicated Jon about his cane and childhood injury that the four found themselves at another bar, cheerfully drinking in the success of a section of the Archives being put into some semblance of order. It may not have been much, but having all the boxes at least put onto a shelf, the lids able to close, and papers being put as close to their intended place as possible in the chaotic mess Gertrude had left behind, was something the team had been working towards for long enough that it took very little convincing on Tim’s part to get Jon to join them on their excursion. 

Martin had gotten looped into a drinking game with Tim and Sasha, though how that happened he wouldn’t be able to tell you, and had been losing quite spectacularly, a flush creating a line of red across his cheeks, nose, and even up to his ears, his giggles becoming more frequent and closer to a true belly laugh the longer he went. Sitting next to Jon in the booth, he watched as Tim and Sasha played Roshambo to determine who went next, his head lolling off to the side, resting against Jon’s bony, but rather warm shoulder. He happily began humming to himself and Jon turned his head to attempt to see Martin’s face from its perch on his shoulder.

“What is that tune, Martin?” He asked, his voice low and rumbly, not wanting to disturb Martin from his position, but undying levels of curious about the sweet melody Martin hummed so often.

Martin tipped his head back, his lips slightly parted as he stared at Jon for a moment and thought through the question. When he spoke he sounded nostalgic, lost in memory as he relaxed a little more against Jon. 

“It’s something my mother used to play on the piano when I was a child. I don’t know the name of it, she always played it from memory, but she was always so happy when she was playing it. I used to sit at the end of the piano while she played and just felt the notes in my chest.” Martin sighed deeply, a melancholy happiness almost taking over him. “She doesn’t play anymore, or if she does, it’s not when I visit her, but she played it often enough that I remember it.”

Tim and Sasha called it a night soon after, seeing that Martin was going to have a difficult time getting home and not wanting to push themselves any further either. 

If Jon walked Martin to his building that night, blatantly ignoring Martin’s protests that he lived in the opposite direction, making sure that Martin got into his building safe before going back to his own flat, well, they didn’t have to talk about it. 

And if, in return, Martin slipped an extra sweater Jon’s way when the heat went out for a few days during a cold spell… Well… At some point Jon stopped worrying about being mothered.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! I don't normally write pure fluff, so this was a bit of an exercise for me. Feel free to poke me on the big blue site at archives-lofi-charm


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